In the House of Riddle
by p.c. andrews
Summary: A oneshot about Tom Riddle's one and only visit to his father's house. Changed the title from Bringer of Death, and revised, but still was written before HBP came out, so it's slight AU.


_Disclaimer: This story features characters and situations based on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling._

In the House of Riddle

_This is the type of day where anything can happen,_ Tom Riddle thought as he walked along the low garden wall that guarded the lovely lawn of the Riddle house. It was approaching dinnertime, late in June. The sun was making a graceful departure, spreading the last rays before sinking below the horizon. The yew trees that lined the long driveway leading up to the main house cast long shadows, pointing Tom in the right direction.

How would they react when they saw him? Maybe they'd invite him to sit down and have dinner with them? Sure. Tom wasn't expecting a warm welcome, but still, one couldn't help but be a little hopeful. He hid behind one of the trees when he saw a rather large woman leaving through the back door of the house. She turned to face the house, made a nasty face, and stomped off toward the village of Little Hangleton. After he thought the coast was clear, Tom stepped onto the paved driveway again. He didn't notice the gardener who was still finishing his work on the side of the large, ivy covered house.

He approached the large oaken doors, ready to knock, but his hand seemd to freeze in midair. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all,_ Tom thought suddenly. Perhaps he should have at least written to them first... He hadn't though, and he knew why, too. It was because he was afraid they'd forbid him to come. And Tom had to see him, at least once...

With his heart hammering, Tom rapped on the door three times. He heard a gravelly voice from beyond call, "Just about to sit down to dinner, and somone has the nerve to be selling something at this hour! Go peddle your wares somewhere else!" It sounded like an older man, one who smoked pipes.

"I...I'm not a salesman," Tom called back feebly. "I'm here to see Tom Riddle, if he's here...please?"

Tom then heard a heavy sigh, a grumble. His heart began to race. "And just what would you be wanting with my son?" asked a fierce, older woman's voice as she opened the door. Tom's very first glimpse of his grandmother, then, was a vision of a plump, finely dressed, very irritated woman with a helmet of iron gray hair. But her lined face went from angry to slack. "Oh...Oh, my God..." she stammered and gripped the doorknob. Tom took this to mean that she recognized him by looking at him. "T...Thomas! THOMAS!" she shrieked.

At once, the old man and Thomas rushed to the woman's aid. All three of them simultaneously gaped, and no wonder. Tom stared back at his father, and saw his own brilliant blue eyes, his own black hair, his own face. "Hello, Father..." Tom ventured to say. His father made an unintelligible sound, then pushed his parents aside and slammed the door shut.

Tom blinked. He hadn't expected them to welcome him with open arms, true, but having the door slammed in his face just seemed to hurt more than he thought it would. Like someone had just jabbed an icy fist into his stomach. He turned around and sat on the top step, loosening his jaw, which he had just realized he'd locked. He took out his wand. At first, he just twirled it in his hands, like he'd often do when he was nervous. Then, after a moment, Tom decided that he'd have to take a bit more action. With a crack, he Apperated into the Riddle living room.

To his satisfaction, he saw that they had all been staring out the window, watching to see if he would leave. His father said, "Thank God he's left! Did you see how he just..."

"Disapperated? Is that what you meant to say?" Tom said behind them. They all three jumped away from the window like cats who'd just had water thrown on them. Tom's father looked frightened out of his mind, Grandfather Riddle began wheezing from stress and sat heavily into one of the highback chintz chairs, but Grandmother Riddle merely narrowed her eyes and hissed, "How dare you break into this house!"

Tom worked his jaw loose again to speak. "I thought I'd try knocking, but since you decided to treat me so rudely, I figured that I'd better do things my way instead." They all three flinched a bit when he said "my way," so casually. "Actually," Tom told them, "if someone were to Apperate into a person's home properly, he or she is supposed to use a chime before entering, so that everyone in the house knows that they have company. I'll demonstrate." Tom Disapperated. Then, the Riddles heard a chord of otherworldly notes, and Tom Apperated into the living room again. Tom's father gaped even more than his parents did.

But of course, Grandmother recovered first. "We want you out of this house right now," she demanded.

Tom looked to his left, through the drawing room doors, where he saw dinner on the table. "Well, I'm so damned sorry I interrupted your dinner," he spat. "So sorry I made you lose your appetites. But I thought I'd like to take one look at my father's face, just once," Tom said with a cracking voice.

Grandmother turned very cold. "What made you think he'd ever want to see you?" she sneered. "Considering what your mother was, how she lied to my son, tricked him into marrying her!"

"My mother was his _wife,_ and she loved him. God only knows why, but who can explain such a mad emotion as love?" Tom walked toward his father, who looked like he wanted to leap over the back of the sofa to hide behind it. "I know you left her before I was born. Do you know what happened to her?"

"No, and I don't want to know, either," his father answered weakly.

"She died, giving birth to me," Tom watched his father's face. He didn't see his father show any sort of emotion, but then, he wasn't looking into Tom's eyes. "Do you want to know what she named me? She named me _Tom,"_ he continued. That news made his father flinch a bit. "To the very end, she was hoping you'd come back."

This made his father glare at Tom angrily. At last, Tom thought, he's feeling something... "You have no way of knowing that for certain!"

"Yes, she remained devoted to you until the last breath she took," Tom told him.

"Then she was a fool," his father muttered.

Tom looked at his grandparents. "Look at the three of you!" Tom shouted suddenly. "The people in this town hate you, do you know that?" He turned to his father and continuted. "You traded a life that would have included a devoted wife and son so you could stay here with your parents, just because she was a witch! I hope that the tradeoff was worth it!"

Grandfather finally spoke up. "How could he have stayed with your mother after he found out what she was? She was a sinner, a lover of the Devil! No God-fearing man remains with someone like that. It was bad enough that he'd lain with her, but to find that she'd spawned a child as well, which would turn out just as she did? My son could have nothing to do with that!"

Tom turned to him. "Please spare me that sanctimonious bullshit! The people of this village don't believe in your piety any more than I do! And might I add, your precious son did have a part in _spawning_ me as well!"

"Quite," Grandmother Riddle spoke up, "which is why we told him that if he didn't come straight back home and leave the witch, we'd cut him off from his inheritance. I feel foolish that I hadn't thought of it sooner..."

"But he'd married her!" Tom argued.

"And believe me, we tried to get that rectified. We attempted to get an annullment, but we couldn't track down that Satanic slut to get her signature on the papers!" Grandfather stood up and announced, "My dinner is getting cold."

Tom's eyes narrowed and growled, "You don't call my mother a slut, and then tell me you're dinner's waiting. Sit down now!"

"Dammit Dad, let me handle this!" Tom's father snapped. "Mum, let's talk in the kitchen a second?"

"There's absolutely no need, Thomas. I had feared this day might come. I knew I'd have to do certain things if it did, if your child ever came here," she told her son quietly. "If only you'd done that 18 years ago! If only you'd had a plan! Do you have a _plan?"_

Tom's father nodded very briefly. Then, he looked at Tom with a bit more courage than he'd had a few moments ago. "Tom?" his father said (as if unsure of his son's name), "I think you and I should talk alone for a few moments?" he suggested. Tom's mouth opened. He hardly dared hope that his father might be changing his mind! "This way, Mum and Dad could finish preparing dinner and have it served, and then, we can all sit down at the table and enjoy it." He said this in a very significant sort of way. Thomas Riddle looked to his parents and reinforced his words. "Okay?"

"Alright," Grandmother nodded. Grandfather's eyes slid to Tom and he nodded as well. Tom was led out into the foyer, and then out the door.

"Now listen, Tom," his father said, "I know you're confused right now, so let me try to clear some things up. First of all, I had always thought your mother married that Malfoy fellow; I had no idea that she'd died. Secondly, I know my parents, especially my father, are a bit, shall we say, rigid, in their thinking. This magic stuff gets them quite bent out of shape. As long as you don't do any magic around them, they might just forget about it after a while..."

"But, why couldn't they accept my mother?" Tom asked.

"Well, that was when they were a bit younger still, and they had more strength. Now, they're older, more tired. They'll have to accept you now that you're here!" Tom watched his father turn for the door through tears nearly blinding his eyes. "I think they should have everything prepared. The cook left early today, so we have to serve ourselves. Come along, Tom." He followed his father inside, through the drawing room, into the dining room, where, sure enough, Grandmother and Grandfather Riddle were already sitting.

As soon as father and son sat across from eachother at the long table, Thomas and his parents reached for eachother's hands to say grace. Tom glanced nervously from side to side, seeing that the Riddles seemed to be very intent on thanking God for their daily bread, so he just bowed his head, waiting for them to finish. Once that was over, Tom saw his father smile from across the table and say, "Enjoy!"

It was pork chops and peas for dinner; Tom was almost too nervous to eat. He'd thought that this meeting was going to be a complete disasater. What could have changed their minds so quickly like that? He watched his grandfather have some of the peas, so he decided he'd have some as well.

One forkful made it into his mouth and he nearly gagged; it tasted like someone had dumped the entire contents of a pepper mill into the peas! Tom grabbed his goblet of water and began gulping it. All three Riddles stopped eating and watched him intently. Tom drained the glass, and was still smarting from the fire in his mouth. In fact, his vision suddenly got very blurry. They all still watched as Tom struggled to get to his feet. What was going on?

He made it as far as the drawing room before his legs gave way. Tom stumbled beside the chaise lounge, gasping for breath. The three Riddles entered the drawing room and loomed over his crouched form.

Grandfather spoke first. "If you had ever read your Bible, you godless heathen, you would know _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live._ You didn't really think we'd be accepting hellspawn into this house, the House of Riddle, living under our roof, eating the food of our table?"

Grandmother continued it, "You didn't really imagine that we'd keep you here as a constant reminder of our son's momentary foolishness? You didn't really think that we were going to start explaining who you were to the neighbors, did you? Could you just imagine the talk?"

Tom found the strength to look up to his father. "I don't understand," his father said to his parents, "he should have died by now. Dad, you put enough arsenic in his water, didn't you?"

"I most cetainly did!" Grandfather protested. "I wouldn't dare make a mistake like that. Not with this demon child in our midst."

Tom looked up to his father one more time. Surely this couldn't be happening! "Father?" he gasped helplessly.

"Don't you call me that! You should never have come here! Once I left your mother, I thought I was done with all of your kind! Who knew you'd be showing yourself here after all these years? Just like your mother, who didn't have enough sense to let go! Did you think that after all this time, I'd actually start being your _Dad?_ How pathetic!" his father sneered. Then he spun on his heel and poured himself a brandy and sat down, not facing him. He'd had enough of dealing with this _unpleasantness_ apparently.

Grandmother sat next to him, patted Thomas on his free hand. "Don't worry, darling. This will be over soon enough." Tom felt the heat of rage and hate flood through him. They poisoned him, and now he had the gall and nerve of not dying fast enough for their taste!

"Father, look at me!" Tom cried. He crawled to his father's leg. His father kicked him away, like a dirty dog. _Tom, find the strength,_ a voice inside him said. _Hold on, Tom. Get your wand out of your pocket, Tom..._

Tom pulled out the wand slowly, and through his blurred eyes, he could not see his relatives' expressions, but could certainly feel the growing fear. His head was spinning, though, and it was getting more and more difficult to hold his wand steadily. So he was _pathetic,_ was he? "You're right, of course. I should not have come here. It appears that the only worthwhile relative I ever had is long dead. In spite of this, in his own way, Salazar Slytherin has reached across the nearly one thousand years that separates us, to give me the sense of identity I could never count on getting from you."

"Soon you will be taken from here in the claws of Satan, and we will be well rid of you, but if you don't shut your heathen mouth..." Grandfather growled.

"You'll what? Rip my heart out of my chest? You've already done that, old man! My only regret," Tom said as he held his wand up, "is that I cannot give you the kind of pain you've inflicted on me!" _Kill the Muggles_ the voice inside Tom urged. _If you kill them, you'll use your magic, and the poison will lose it's power..._

Tom latched his consciousness onto the rage, disappointment, bitterness, and regret he'd found in this house, and used it to fuel his spell...

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

The rush of power made him sway even as green light filled the room. When the light cleared, Tom looked up at his three Muggle relatives. The sheer terror they'd felt was frozen onto their faces. They did not move. Their eyes were open, but somehow, the souls behind them had vanished. Tom shuddered violently, dropped his wand. They were all dead.

His vision had cleared; it had been just as the voice had told him. He would live. Tom again crawled over to his father's feet, but this time, he was not kicked away. Of course he wasn't, because his father was dead. He'd killed his father! It should not have been so easy! It should have made him die while he cursed him, somehow.

The tears started flowing as though he'd stored an ocean inside his head. His stomach ached and trembled; his hands could not stop shaking. He could not hold himself upright because he didn't have the strength. At his father's feet, Tom sobbed. Had his mother done this once, begging Thomas Riddle to stay with her? What was it about this man, _this Muggle,_ that brought both his mother, and now him, to such depths of despair?

"All I ever wanted was for you to care..." Tom whispered. "All I ever wanted was for you to look at me and smile, and think, _what a fine son I have._ You could have said that, just once. If you'd known me, you could have said that. I would have given anything for you to have said that, just once. I would have done anything so that you'd love me."

It was no use now; Thomas Riddle was dead. Which was why Tom was able to rest his head at his father's feet, and not be kicked away...

Tom woke up in the middle of the night. Some of the lights were on in the dining room. Tom slowly walked to the table, looked at the goblet that had the arsenic in it. He picked it up and used a Stowing Spell to make it vanish to a more convenient location until Tom could put it somewhere more permenant. To the rest of his dinner, he simply waved his wand and cried _"Evanesco."_ All evidence now that there had been any dinner guest at all was gone. He'd used one of the Forbidden Curses; he could be locked in Azkaban forever if he was caught. Tom had no intention of going to the wizard's prison for killing his grandparents and father! His disgust and bitter rage seeped into his tissues, into his very marrow. He closed his eyes, and savored the sensation.

Tom turned to look into his father's dead blue eyes one last time. "You could have had it all. If you meet my mother again, tell her I sent you to her at last..." Tom's eyes burned with tears when he thought of his poor mother. Perhaps she would have peace now...

With a crack, Tom Disapperated.


End file.
